


Advice From The Hornet's Nest

by Soulhearts



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: A church, Fluff, Gen, It's a mystery to me, Post-Hydra Control, Right?, Sam Wilson & some tea, Volunteer Steve, When did I write this?, because Steve is canonically religious, i think, recovery!bucky, some blankets, these tags aren't even anything anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9249263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulhearts/pseuds/Soulhearts
Summary: Bucky Barnes' snapshot of recovery.





	

There are tight lines around his eyes, a hollowness behind the dark pupils. He's worn to the bone, worked and exhausted, day in and day out now for years. His right hand trembles, his left hand, still. His left is always more obedient. Has been for years now.

The hard wood of the pew he sits in keeps his head clear. He almost _likes_ sitting in churches, only because they are usually quiet and something about them keeps his thoughts sober. They keep the anger and fragility out of his head. The window above the alter is circular. It has many windows though, each stained with a different image, with similar depictions in the windows that run down either side of the church.

The church itself is mostly empty, though two others sit in close quarters and pray silently. The cross hangs front and center. A heavy, wooden thing he knows even he would struggle to lift alone. He half-heartedly wonders how they got it up there in the first place. Candles burn all over the room. Who lit them? And why? There is hardly anyone in here. Why bother wasting resources like that? Why burn them outside of the service? He has no idea.

“Buck?”

A quiet voice pulls his eyes to the left and it is Steve, now resting against a pillar between pews.

He removes himself from his place and follows Steve along the blue carpet of the isle until they reach the open front door. His eyes glance over the small sign that reads, _the church is open for silent prayer between the hours of 9:00am and 3:00pm, except Sundays._

Steve looks back at him as they exit. He looks. Disturbed. Worried. Bucky finds his stomach twisting with a feeling not dissimilar to guilt. He always makes Steve wear those kinds of expressions. He wishes he knew how to make them stop.

“Sorry about that,” Steve says, his voice a normal dynamic now that they are outside. “Angela's new and since I was the last volunteer in the kitchen hall on Monday, they asked me to show her the ropes today. Betty's giving it up you see, poor thing can't catch the bus anymore, not since she broke her hip.”

Bucky shrugs but doesn't say anything. He thinks it's kind and great of Steve to do so much volunteer work, but he honestly hadn't been ready to get out of bed this morning when Steve declared they had to walk down here. He'd protested silently by glaring at the back of Steve's chipper blonde head and had decided that, rather than follow Steve to the kitchen hall, he would sit inside the church and wait. It's nice to feel independent like this. Sam had said it did him good to get out of the tower and Steve had taken that advice to heart, dragging Bucky along with him everywhere he went, even if they had to leave their apartment at nine am; he liked _sleep,_ god damn it.

It's quiet for a minute, but Steve's twitchy eyes continue to glance over at him every few seconds and the man is clearly itching to say _something_.

He breaks.

“How's your head today, Buck?”

Bucky's mouth almost curls itself into a smug smile, but he reigns it back. He knows better than that.

“Mental processing is within set parameters.” He says, looking at the pavement beneath his feet as they leave via the church carpark, walking past the hall and out through the black iron gate that leads back towards the city where the office buildings become more crowded the further one walks.

Steve's face falls flat and his eyes narrow.

Obviously his answer needs to be elaborated, but he's not sure how. Or why? Steve is a… difficult one to please.

“That's not what I meant, Buck.” Steve interrupts the silence again. “I meant how are you doing, how're are you feeling?”

God. These questions are so complicated. He never knows how to answer them, never knows what will put that _damn horrible expression_ on Stevie's face.

“I am functioning within parameters.” He tries again hesitantly, it comes out with less strength, earning him _that_ look.

Steve sighs.

_I'm sorry Steve. I don't know what you want from me._

“Good.” He finally says, “Good. Okay, that's… fine.”

Steve goes quiet and Bucky knows he's done something wrong, but he doesn't quite know what. Maybe Wilson will know. Or maybe he'll ask Romanoff. He's obviously being _bad,_ but he doesn't know how to correct it. He doesn't know how to make Steve _smile_. Or at least not give him those eyes. He likes the smiles Steve makes, but its rare for him to direct them at Bucky and it frustrates him that he doesn't know why.

* * *

“It's not you, buddy,” Sam says, which only makes him more confused. Sam hands him a mug of lemon tea and he sips at it slowly because it is too hot for him not to burn his tongue and he has specific orders from Steve not to do anything which might hurt the body. He was happy to receive this order, he remembers. The body has been burned before. It was punishment. F-for not… for not… he…

He cannot remember. But he was bad. Disobedient. They were right to punish him. He deserved it.

“Steve's… he's going a little fast for you, I think.” Sam continues, oblivious to Bucky's new train of thought. “I might need to have a word with him, but don't take it personally, Barnes. It isn't you. Okay?”

He nods.

“Okay.” He parrots, the word feeling funny on his tongue. He's never said 'Okay' before… or at least he doesn't remember doing so.

Sam's mouth turns upwards into something encouraging, so he says it again. A little more conviction behind it this time.

“Alright then.” Sam nods, the topic of conversation starting anew.

* * *

“You don't sound human.” Is Natasha's biting reply to his question. “You sound like a puppet.”

He doesn't understand, but her harsh tone hurts him anyhow.

She sighs.

“You. Still are, I guess… Look, I'm not really the person to ask about this kind of thing, Barnes. I'm not in your shoes, but I've walked the same path. It's hard, and sometimes you just have to figure it out on your own.”

He casts his eyes to the ground, processing her words.

* * *

Neither of them have given him anything useful, so he huffs out his frustration. Sitting under the covers of his bed where he feels secure and _warm_. Back pressed up against the head-board, face peering out so he can stare at the door, watch for any intruders.

He gets one. Eventually.

“Bucky?” Steve opens the door and light from the hallway floods in until Steve switches the bedroom light on and momentarily blinds him.

“Hey,” he says gently, a tiny adoring smirk on his face. “What are you doing under all those blankets?” He continues as he walks over and kneels by the bed, the smirk turning into more of a smile as he comes closer.

“Like them. Safe.”

Steve slowly unwraps him. There's kindness in his eyes.

“There you are.” Steve smiles, and Bucky revels in it because this is all he wanted, that smiling Steve. The Steve that looks at him like he can do no wrong even though he is the source of most wrong in the world.

Steve looks at him not like he was the right hand of H.Y.D.R.A., but like their first victim, but their longest tortured soul.

“Come on,” he says, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

Bucky nods and grips Steve's hand tighter.

He won't let go this time. He'll make Steve proud of him this time. He'll earn that elusive smile until Steve never stops giving it to him.


End file.
